It sings to me in sunshine, It whispers all day long, My heartache like an echo Repeats the wistful song: Only a quaint old love-lilt, Wherein my life is hid,— “My body is in Segovia, But my soul is in Madrid!” I dream, and wake, and wonder, For dream and day are one, Alight with vanished faces, And days forever done. They smile and shine around me As long ago they did; For my body is in Segovia, But my soul is in Madrid! Through inland hills and forests I hear the ocean breeze, The creak of straining cordage, The rush of mighty seas, The lift of angry billows Through which a swift keel slid; For my body is in Segovia, But my soul is in Madrid. O fair-haired little darlings Who bore my heart away! A wide and woful ocean Between us roars to-day; Yet am I close beside you Though time and space forbid; My body is in Segovia, But my soul is in Madrid. If I were once in heaven, There would be no more sea; My heart would cease to wander, My sorrows cease to be; My sad eyes sleep forever, In dust and daisies hid, And my body leave Segovia. —Would my soul forget Madrid?
Segovia and Madrid
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